No Vacancy in Paradise
by Saerry Snape
Summary: Things have happened over the years. Friends have died. And Xander has steeled himself against it all, hunting demons and vampires on his own. Now answers have started to arise about things that have happened. And nothing will stop him from finding them.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** _No Vacancy in Paradise_  
**Gen/Het/Slash:** Gen  
**Parings:** None  
**Genre:** Post S7  
**Story Warnings:** Murder, violence, language

**Summary:** Things have happened over the years. People have died. _Friends _have died. And Xander has steeled himself against it all, hunting demons and vampires under the name of Deathbringer. But now…now answers have started to arise about things that have happened. And nothing will stop him from hunting those answers down.

**Disclaimer:** Written for the Dark Xander Ficathon on Livejournal. Don't own characters or anything relating to them.

**Council File Number 3926**

**Name:** Alexander 'Xander' LaVelle Harris

**Age:** 35

**Height:** 6'1

**Hair:** Dark brown

**Eyes:** Hazel

**Birthplace:** Sunnydale, California

**History:** Is known to have been at the side of Slayer Elizabeth 'Buffy' Anne Summers since the beginning of her career until it ended with her death nine years ago. Also known to be the best friend of the witch Willow Rosenberg, now encased in the Council's vault since her mind was lost whilst trying to resurrect Slayer Summers a second time.

**Identifying Marks:** An eye patch (left eye) and a curved scar along right cheek

**Current Location:** Unknown

**Current Accomplices:** Has been seen with Slayer Faith Lehane, who left the Council after Mr. Giles' suicide last year. Also there has been some contact with vampire William Walthrop, known more widely as William the Bloody and Spike.

**Current Activities:** Freelance hunter. Known as Deathbringer amongst vampires and demons alike.

**WARNING!** Do not approach without backup. Is armed and dangerous.

**Chapter 1**

"So this is what the Council thinks of me now, hmm?" said a man, his face shadowed by the corner he was leaning his chair back into. He flipped the folder in his hands closed, hiding the file and the photos that peeked out from underneath it and tossed it on the table in front of him. "Am I really that scary?"

The figure across the table shrugged nonchalantly as they pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pockets of their coat. A flash of peroxide blonde hair and a pale face showed in the brief flicker of light as a match sparked and lit the cigarette before getting tossed carelessly over the figure's shoulder.

"Feh, you couldn't be scary if scary tromped its way into your bloody bedroom."

The man chuckled a little at that, saying, "I know your code, Spike. That means I'm damn scary and you know it."

Spike responded by blowing a stream of smoke at the man across the table from him with a smirk. Then he shrugged and said, "What's my opinion matter anyway? We bloody hate each other."

"Yes, we do _bloody_ hate each other. But I'm also the last link you've got to _her_."

The vampire's smirk faded away at that, leaving a slightly haunted expression behind. He stared across the table with dark eyes and murmured, "That's a low blow, runt."

"Yet it's startlingly true."

Spike seemed to ignore that comment and took a long drag on his cigarette, looking down at the folder lying on the table next to a beer bottle. He then glanced up at the man across from him and asked, "So what did you want the file for?"

The man shrugged and replied, "Just wanted to see what they thought of me. And what info they had on past escapades of mine."

"They know about you."

"They don't know jack shit and you know it, Spike. They're too scared to find out what happened too. What happened to me, Willow, Giles…_Buffy_."

"I _told_ 'em what happened to Buffy," snarled Spike. "I was _there_ and I couldn't do a damn bloody thing to save her. Worthless wretch, I am."

The man shook his head at that, saying, "You were outnumbered and outgunned."

"I'm William the _fucking_ Bloody! I should've been able to save her."

"Neither of us is cut out for the saving thing, Spike. Not anymore. Things are different now."

"_You're_ different."

"Nothing I don't know."

Spike scowled and angrily took a drag at his cigarette before snuffing it out on the table, leaving another burn mark in the already scarred wood. He then rose and growled, "Don't even care anymore, do you? Not about anything but your bloody crusade."

The man leaned forward then, the right side of his face only lit up with the rest of him still in shadow. A hazel eye stared at the vampire from over a curved scar three inches long and he said, "I care."

"You've never asked about the Niblet once. Not one bloody time since we started having these chitchats. She asks about you all the damn bloody time and you don't give her a second thought!"

"I have other things to worry about."

Shock – true shock – spread across Spike's face at that then anger quickly replaced it. He lunged forward, intent on grabbing the man about the neck, only to have the barrel of a 9mm Glock thrust in his face. Brown eyes met the sole hazel orb and the man bared his teeth in a feral smile.

"Really want to try, Spike? 'Cause you know what I use for bullets."

The vampire looked at him for a long moment then drew back, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it up. He took a long drag on it then turned to regard the man with a gaze that was rare for him: pity.

"You're a sad one, runt."

The man's face contorted into anger at that and the finger on the trigger of the Glock clenched.

"I don't need your fucking pity."

Spike shrugged and said, "Have it your way. I'm bloody out of here." He turned and took two steps away from the table before he turned back, pulling something out from within his coat.

A small, lumpy package hit the table and slid until it bumped the folder, drawing the man's attention to it. He then looked up at the vampire and growled, "What the fuck is this?"

"Niblet wanted me to give it to you. Shockingly enough, she still thinks there's some good in you."

The man frowned and looked down at the little package, considering it for a long moment. Then he looked up and saw Spike was gone, leaving the bar they'd met in with only two other occupants besides himself and the bartender. His hazel eye turned to regard the package again then he snorted, rising from his chair in a smooth move.

He thrust the Glock back into the holster at his left thigh then picked up the folder, tugging out the entire contents and folding the pages before thrusting the entire thing into an inner pocket of his trenchcoat. The now empty folder hit the surface of the table and fell open, lying abandoned beside the little package as he walked towards the bar's door.

The man who'd once been known as Xander never even looked back.

---

Deathbringer wasn't at all surprised to find a buxom brunette wearing dark leather to be sitting on the doorstep of his apartment, leaning back on her elbows and smoking, when he pulled into the parking lot. He looked at her for a moment through the windshield of his 1960 black Aston Martin (a rare model he'd taken from it's owners garage after said owner was dust) then climbed slowly out of the car, making a slow path over to sink down beside her.

"So," he said as he leaned back, legs stretched out in front of him, "what's a pretty thing like you doing sitting on my doorstep at four in the morning?"

The brunette didn't answer him immediately and he frowned.

"Alright, what's the job?"

"There is no job, X," she replied, flicking the butt of her cigarette away. "This is personal."

He scowled at that, growling, "You know I don't like personal stuff, Faith. There's three damn good reasons I left personal stuff in my dust."

Dark eyes turned to regard him solemnly, revealing a set of two jagged scars that marred the face of the oldest living Slayer in an 'x' shape over her left eye.

"This is about _our_ personal stuff, X," Faith said. "I caught a lead on the real cause of Tweed's death."

"Lemme guess…it wasn't really suicide like they said."

"Just like we always suspected. S'why I left the Council bastards the second time around, you know that. Mother fuckers trying to cover up the death of one of the four guys that ever gave a flying fuck about me." Her expression saddened at that and she continued, "Last one that was left besides the first one that dared care about me."

Deathbringer looked at her with his sole eye for a long moment before saying stonily, "Faith. This isn't the time to reminisce."

Faith turned to look at him then and chuckled darkly, shaking her head.

"Always serious now, ain't yah, X?"

"I get my orders, I do my job, I get my pay. Pay allows me to eat and live and pay for that car. Being serious allows me to get my job done quicker."

"I kinda miss the old goof."

"Xander is dead."

Faith sighed at that then slid one hand underneath her right leg, drawing out a plain white note card that she'd apparently been sitting on. She extended it towards him and he took it, silently reading the name and address that was scrawled across it in her familiar hand.

"I was told that the guy there had major info on the whole deal. Since I know you were closer to Tweed than I ever was, I figured I'd let you handle taking care of him."

Deathbringer looked down at the note card for a moment then turned his head to regard her with his one eye.

"You mean you know I'll manage to get the information out of him _before_ I kill him."

The Slayer smiled sheepishly and shrugged, saying, "Yeah, maybe." She rose then and stretched languidly like a cat, a move that would have made any other man practically insane with lust. But the man sprawled on the steps just watched her as though she was doing nothing simpler than standing there.

Faith turned halfway towards him as she finished her stretch and smiled in a way that didn't quite reach her dark eyes. "Night, X," she murmured before heading towards the dark form of a hulking motorcycle that lurked at the edge of the tiny apartment building parking lot.

He watched her as she went, expression never changing as she threw one slim leg over the monster of a bike and revved it to life, peeling out of the parking lot moments later with the roar of the engine. A window opened above him and he rose even as the elderly woman who lived above him began yelling about what horrible young people there were today and how they never respected the privacy of others anymore. He ignored her shouting with well-honed practice, opening the door to his apartment and heading into the dark residence without pause.

Keys landed with a clatter on the table near the door, followed moments later by the files and photographs from his Council file. His trenchcoat came off then and was tossed onto the back of the only chair at the table. Boots, belt, and shirt were stripped off in quick succession then and dropped along the floor as he made his way from the main room of the apartment into the bedroom.

He hit the bed facedown with a vague moan, pulling a pillow to his chest with one arm whilst he tugged blankets over himself with the other. Sleep came slowly for the first time in years as his mind was distracted by the two conversations he'd had earlier.

Spike pitied him. _Spike_, of all beings, pitying him was like a low blow to the gut.

Faith was afraid of him. _Faith_, the woman he'd started jokingly calling Xena when they started working together in Cleveland, who he had believed would never be afraid of anything again after Kakistos and her bad times with the law, being afraid of him hurt. Just the thought of the last remaining person he called friend - he used the term loosely and very rarely these days - fearing him made what light was left within him flutter and partially spark out.

And Dawn...the Key...the kid sister he'd always wished he had...she still believed in him. Still thought well of him. Thought there was _good_ left in him.

Ha, good.

He'd left _good_ behind a long time ago.

Rolling over onto his back, he reached up and jerked off the eye patch, revealing the blank eye socket underneath. He tossed the patch towards the edge of the bed then sighed, closing both eyes as he shook his head.

Spike could go to Hell.

Faith could get her ass in gear.

Dawn...Dawn should stop believing in him.

He wasn't a good person anymore. Not to her, not to his so-called friends, not to his employers, and not to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** _No Vacancy in Paradise_  
**Gen/Het/Slash:** Gen  
**Parings:** None  
**Genre:** Post S7  
**Story Warnings:** Murder, violence, language

**Summary:** Things have happened over the years. People have died. _Friends _have died. And Xander has steeled himself against it all, hunting demons and vampires under the name of Deathbringer. But now…now answers have started to arise about things that have happened. And nothing will stop him from hunting those answers down.

**Disclaimer:** Written for the Dark Xander Ficathon on Livejournal. Don't own characters or anything relating to them.

**Chapter 2**

"Please...oh God, please, don't kill me!"

"Shh," said Deathbringer, placing the barrel of his 9mm Glock against the forehead of the quivering lump of flesh at his feet. He hadn't bothered to remember the name of the wretch - after all, the man probably wouldn't be alive long enough to use it much longer. "Stop whining and I'll consider it."

"Oh thank you!" exclaimed the man, fleshy jowls shuddering. "Thank you, thank you..._ugh!_"

"Stop thanking me."

"Y-yes."

Deathbringer smiled – a grim grin that bore only passing resemblance to an actual smile – and said, "Now you're going to tell me everything that you know about the death of Rupert Giles."

The lump of flesh went pasty white at that and started to quiver again, eyes bugging out of his head. He shook his head frantically, stammering, "N-n-no, I can't! They'll kill me!"

Glock met forehead once again and Deathbringer crouched down so his face was close to the wretch's.

"If you don't tell me, _I'll_ kill you."

"B-but you said..."

He pushed the barrel of the Glock hard against the wretch's forehead, causing him to cry out in pain.

"I said I wouldn't kill you if you stopped whining. I said nothing about not killing you if you didn't tell me what I wanted to know."

The lump quivered then nodded limpy, jowls shaking. "O-okay, okay," he stammered. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything."

Deathbringer bared his teeth in a feral grin at that and holstered his Glock, not moving another inch besides that.

"Start talking," he growled. "I've got places to be."

"P-people to k-kill?" said the wretch, seeming to gain a bit of courage.

A sole hazel eye turned towards the lump with a cold gaze and the courage fled with its tail between its legs. The lump of nameless flesh started stammering out his story then, helped in continuing on when he paused by the Glock coming out and being checked over in slow, practiced motions. He told everything he knew - Deathbringer could tell thanks to his one mystical trick that it was the truth - and then lay in a harshly breathing mass on the floor.

Slowly rising, he went over everything he'd been told in his head...the names...the places...the planning process. He had a lot now.

But he still didn't have the reason _why._ And that was what he wanted most.

"The information is appreciated, wretch," said Deathbringer coldly, snapping off the safety on his Glock. He turned and aimed the barrel at the still lump's feet and fired, sending blood, skin, and bone up in a small cloud of destruction. The man on the floor screamed in pain and tried to inch away from him but, with all of his fat, he couldn't make it very far.

"Y-y-you s-said y-you'd sp-spare m-m-me," stammered the lump of flesh despite the intense pain that must have been radiating from his foot.

The one-eyed man shrugged casually, as though they were having no more than a simple conversation, and said, "I lied." He then shifted the aim of the Glock's barrel and another gunshot rang out, this one leaving a hole in the center of the lump's forehead.

Deathbringer turned before the corpse had even started to cool and left, mind going through all of the information he'd just received as he pushed open the door of the pawnshop the corpse had owned.

Somebody with magic had wanted Giles dead – had succeeded in getting their wish too. And there was one still living person that he knew that might just be able to tell him who it could have been.

Deathbringer grinned and climbed into his car, ignoring the sirens wailing from blocks away – cops coming to respond to the gunshots in the pawnshop. He had a new meeting to set up with somebody from his past…one of the few still living.

Now the big question was if Ethan Rayne was still in military custody like he'd been the last time he'd checked on the Chaos mage or if he'd made his escape again. Chances were, the latter of the two was probably the truth.

---

"Well," said Deathbringer as he looked at his dirty, meager surroundings before turning back to the man slumped over a small table with a bottle of scotch, "I never expected to find you in this kind of squabble. Looks like you've fallen far."

Ethan Rayne lifted his head wearily from the table and stared drunkenly at him for a moment. Then he pushed himself partially upright and managed to speak in a voice that didn't make him seem drunk at all.

"It's a far cry upwards from where _you've_ fallen. White Knight."

The bane of the Watcher's Council jerked at that and loosed a low, angry snarl as he stormed forward to stand at the other side of the table. He drew his 9mm in a smooth motion and planted the end of the barrel against Ethan's forehead, who didn't flinch at all at the motion.

"You be careful about what you say, _mage_," growled Deathbringer. "I've got a real itchy trigger finger tonight. Already killed one person…won't give me one damn nightmare to kill another."

Ethan smirked a bit at that and said, "Well, well, so the rumors _are_ true. The puppy's all grown up and gotten himself some fangs." He then glanced at the gun and stated, "By the way, the safety's still on."

"That's because I want some information out of your worthless ass before I kill you."

"Oh, I see. Information on…dear Ripper's death, I assume?"

Deathbringer smiled thinly and said, "Looks like we're on the same page."

"Oh, good," purred Ethan. "Now…if you wouldn't mind removing the gun from my head? I find it particularly impedes my memory."

"No, my _bullet_ will impede your memory. The gun helps provoke the little bastard to the surface."

"Ah, so it does, so it does."

The 9mm slowly withdrew and Ethan relaxed by pouring himself another scotch, downing it in a moment then pouring another. He offered the bottle towards the standing one-eyed man then, when it was declined, scoffed at him.

"Oh, come now, come now. Sit down and let's talk like civilized people do."

"If either of us are civilized, the rest of the world is a zoo."

Ethan frowned then shrugged, saying, "Very well." He then looked curiously up at the younger man and asked, "How _did_ you lose that eye?"

"I'll give you a demonstration for free if you don't start telling me what you know," growled Deathbringer in response.

The Chaos mage wrinkled his nose at that and took a sip of his scotch.

"Testy, aren't we? Very well then…but you've got to give me something in exchange for what I know."

A dark eyebrow arched.

"I was planning on letting you live but if you want to trade that for something else…"

"Oh, no, no, that's quite fine," said Ethan, raising a hand.

Deathbringer smirked coldly, saying, "Yeah, I thought it would be. Now talk." He flicked the safety off the Glock and added, "Elsewise…well, I think you know what happens elsewise."

"Indeed I do. Now are you going to sit down or stand there and glower at me?"

"I'll stand, thanks."

The Chaos mage shrugged and said, "Very well." And then he launched into his explanation of the facts of Rupert Giles' death.

By the end, Deathbringer wasn't sure whether to kill him or let him continue to live in his misery. Because Ethan _was_ miserable. He'd helped kill Giles – in a small way mind you – and had discovered afterwards that without his old friend to torment, Chaos just wasn't as amusing anymore.

No.

No, death was too good for the likes of Ethan Rayne. He'd put them – and a lot of other people – through too much shit to get off that easy.

And maybe he could be used.

"Interesting," said the hunter, idly flicking dirt out from under his fingernails (or was that blood?). He then turned his single eye on the Chaos mage and purred, "You'll be helping me from now on, Rayne. And first off you'll be hunting down everyone else that helped kill Giles."

"Why should I help you?"

Deathbringer lifted the Glock to the mage's forehead and growled, "Because if you don't I'll make your miserable little life even more of a Hell than it already is."

Ethan looked at him for a long moment, lips pursed, then sighed. He spread his hands in a helpless gesture and stated, "I have no other choice then, do I?"

"There's always choices. Just depends on how shittier one is than the other."

He flippantly saluted with the barrel of his gun and shot, "Be seeing yah."

Ethan nodded then sneered at his turned back, muttering something under his breath. The Chaos mage then yelped in sheer, unadulterated terror when the younger man whirled back about and charged. He had the older man up against the wall in less than a heartbeat, one hand clenched tight about his throat whilst the other pressed the barrel of the Glock hard against his temple. But it wasn't the hand choking him or the gun that nearly made him sober right there on the spot.

It was the slight green gleam in the sole hazel eye and the cold, harsh emotion within it that said this man would have _no_ qualms about seriously injuring him. 'Cause he knew that the former White Knight wasn't going to let him die.

Even Ethan Rayne knew he was too good for death.

"Now you listen to me, you little cockshit," snarled Deathbringer in a dark growl. "I don't give a rat's ass what you think about me. And, while I won't kill you, I _will_ beat the ever-living shit out of you if you _ever_ try and soil the names of people so far above you, you can't see the ground they're standing on. We have an understanding?"

All Ethan could do in response was nod. The hand around his throat was rather forcefully cutting off the flow of air and preventing speech…but luckily allowing the smallest amount of breathing.

"Good, we've got an understanding. Now get to fucking work."

He released the mage, shoving him hard against the wall as he turned and walked again towards the door. Ethan, hacking and coughing, slid down the wall until he was seated on the dingy floor, one hand gently massaging his bruised throat. He watched in silence as the hunter left then slowly made his way to his feet, coughing as he went.

When he made it back into his chair, he slumped into it and coughed before grabbing at the bottle of scotch. He took a long, harsh swing from the bottle and went into another coughing fit, this one accented by slightly mad laughter.

"The…_hack ha_…White Knight gone…_cough…_dark. _Hack…_what could be…_cough haha…_more beautifully…_haha…_ironic?"

He laughed, coughed, and drank himself into numbness, with the knowledge that he had helped kill Ripper and now…now he was going to help avenge him.

Irony was a bitch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** _No Vacancy in Paradise_  
**Gen/Het/Slash:** Gen  
**Parings:** None  
**Genre:** Post S7  
**Story Warnings:** Murder, violence, language

**Summary:** Things have happened over the years. People have died. _Friends _have died. And Xander has steeled himself against it all, hunting demons and vampires under the name of Deathbringer. But now…now answers have started to arise about things that have happened. And nothing will stop him from hunting those answers down.

**Disclaimer:** Written for the Dark Xander Ficathon on Livejournal. Don't own characters or anything relating to them.

**Chapter 3**

"Ms. Summers? Ms. Summers, are you paying attention?"

Dawn turned in confusion from the window and blinked at her college professor for a moment. Then she flushed and murmured, "Yes, Mr. Williams."

The gruff history professor glared at her then went on into the lesson, ignoring her once again. Dawn listened for only a moment then was drawn back to the window and the view of the outside.

And back, again, to her wonderings about Xander. It had been…oh, how many years? Eight? Yes, eight years since she'd seen anything of the man she'd once had a crush on and had later thought of as a brother.

She could still remember the last time she'd seen him. It had been on the morning of the one-year anniversary of her sister's death and she had been sitting up for five hours waiting for Spike to come back. Buffy had taken the vampire in after he'd shown up two months after everything in L.A. had exploded but nothing had ever happened between them again. Spike had seemed to settle to the fact that nothing _would_ happen ever again and just went about the old business of helping kill the vampires and demons. Oh, and looking after ickle Dawnie even though she could damn well take care of herself.

But she'd been awake then when there was a thunderous knock on the front door, which she'd ran in a blur through the house to answer. When she'd flung the door open there had been Xander with one of his arms looped around Spike's waist to hold him up as the other kept the vampire's arm around his shoulder. She never noticed that he didn't look at all disgusted by the fact that he was helping out a vampire.

Inside they came and she helped him to settle Spike on the couch, who only muttered something about being sorry and whimpering. Xander had winced and looked away so his remaining eye was away from her…she'd known then that the _both_ of them had been out drinking, trying to drown their sorrows at the loss of Buffy. Because of Xander's aversion to alcohol (much thanks to his parents), he was still sober enough whilst Spike was completely gone and out of it.

She'd turned to him and reached out to touch his shoulder but he flinched away.

"Xander," she'd said. "Please…"

"I'm leaving," he'd stated in a cold, harsh voice. He turned towards her, sole eye blazing with…something. She still couldn't put a word to the emotion she'd seen in his eye that early morning.

Her lip had trembled and she'd breathed, "Why…?"

He'd stared at her for a long moment then looked away, replying, "Council bullshit. Nothing for you to worry about."

"Xander…"

"Get away from here, Dawnie," he'd said, turning away so his back was towards her. "Take Spike when he's up and sober and get the Hell out of here. The Council…there's some shit going on that I don't want you to get dragged into."

She'd felt tears in her eyes then and had growled, "But _you_ can?"

"I'm already in deep…no way I can get out now. Things are turning, Dawnie…even Giles can't stop them from happening."

"Xander…come with us. Please."

He'd turned to look at her then and she saw the pain in his eye for a moment. Then it was gone and he looked away again, shaking his head.

"I can't," he'd said. "This world…I'm too far in it. Can't pull out and go back to being normal."

"And _I_ can?" she'd hissed, angry then. "I'm the _Key!_"

"I know…you're as deep in the mystical as the rest of us. But…Dawnie, God, you're the last one I've got left. I've lost Buffy and Willow already. And Giles is lost too since he's trying to keep the Council from falling apart and has no time for anything else. Please…for me…don't get caught up in this. Get out while you still can. _Please._"

Maybe it was that last please. Or maybe it was the expression she imagined had been on his face at the time. Who knows what it was that made her agree to do as he asked.

"Okay. I'll go."

He'd stood there for a moment after that then nodded.

"Good."

Then he was out the door and gone before she could make a sound. She'd bolted after him, crashing against the frame of the open front door and clinging there as strength abruptly left her. His shadow she'd caught slipping away and she'd screamed after him until her throat was raw.

He never slowed or came back no matter how she yelled.

He'd left her then and she hadn't seen hide or hair of him since. All she got were the descriptions from Spike of their meetings, few and far between as they were.

"Gone to the dogs, he has," Spike had told her the last time he'd come back from such a meeting. "I'm about tempted to not go to the next meet he tries to get up."

She'd shouted at the vampire for that in a vehement rage and he'd just stared at her. Then he'd said slowly, "He's not the man you knew, Niblet. And it's my sense that it won't be long before he's killed what with the way he's going."

Dawn had desperately wanted an explanation of that – had wanted to know what Spike had helped Xander with – but the vampire was stalwartly silent about it. Just like Xander, he was trying to protect her.

She'd damn well had it with being protected.

Her hand slipped into her pocket to touch a slip of paper that had an address an hour's drive away scrawled on it. She'd pick-pocketed it off Spike whilst he slept – before he had a chance to destroy her only way of finding Xander. God bless Faith for teaching her…even if it wasn't truth. Though if she recalled being taught it and Faith recalled teaching her, even though it hadn't happened…didn't that make it true?

Ah, no matter.

There was a bag full of clothes and weapons in the back of her Toyota, which had a full tank of gas. The moment her class was over she was heading on a little road trip.

She was going to find her Xander.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** _No Vacancy in Paradise_  
**Gen/Het/Slash:** Gen  
**Parings:** None  
**Genre:** Post S7  
**Story Warnings:** Murder, violence, language

**Summary:** Things have happened over the years. People have died. _Friends _have died. And Xander has steeled himself against it all, hunting demons and vampires under the name of Deathbringer. But now…now answers have started to arise about things that have happened. And nothing will stop him from hunting those answers down.

**Disclaimer:** Written for the Dark Xander Ficathon on Livejournal. Don't own characters or anything relating to them.

**Chapter 4**

"I'm not quite certain whether to be disgusted or impressed with the chaos you've just caused," said Ethan as he looked at the blood-spattered, corpse-ridden room. "Though I do believe I am veering more towards impressed."

Deathbringer glanced at him as he slid a fresh clip into his Glock and slid it back into his holster. He then looked around and tugged a tablecloth off an overturned table, using it to wipe the gore off his sword.

"Should I be jumping up and down in glee at the sheer thought of you being impressed at my killing skills?"

"I'd dare say not," replied the Brit. He smiled in a sad sort of way as he added, "Ripper would never have approved."

There was a cold, hard stare at that then the younger man growled, "Giles never approved of my methods _before_ I split with the Council."

The Chaos Mage shrugged at that then gave a little grin as there was an explosion from outside that rocked the building.

"Well, well…it looks like someone managed to call for reinforcements."

"Not anymore," said Deathbringer, dropping the bloodied tablecloth unceremoniously to the floor. He slid his sword into the sheath strapped across his back and turned, leaving the chaos of the room behind him. "Let's go, mage. Fun's over for the night."

Ethan pouted and said, "But I'd just gotten back into the spirit of things!"

The sole hazel eye turned towards him, fixing him with a gaze that could shatter ice. At that the mage winced and said, "Very well."

Deathbringer snorted and continued walking with the mage trailing behind him. When they reached the shattered front doors that had once lead into the building that housed what had been a lawyer's office. The top lawyer had, in reality, been a Black Mage of some power and also one of the names on the list of those who had conspired in Giles' death. Everyone else in his office had been flunkies and apprentices, all of whose bodies were now scattered in the blood-spattered room they'd just left.

He had left enough of the Black Mage for him to be identified by anything but magic…and even that one was iffy.

Stopping in the doorway, he turned and abruptly shoved Ethan up against the doorframe, his eye flashing for a moment with a green light.

"I don't care if you're 'back in the spirit of things', mage. If I couldn't make use of your considerable skill and you weren't such a shattered shell, I'd have killed you a week ago." Deathbringer tightened his grip on the mage's neck as he continued, "Also…I am _by no fucking means_ your _friend_. So don't try and make out like I am. We got an understanding?"

Ethan nodded and was released, collapsing into a gasping head on the floor.

"Good," snarled Deathbringer. He then looked out into the dark night, smiling ferally when he saw the flaming wreckage of at least three cars. The Black Mage had had friends in town and they'd come running once he'd gone down. How could they have known that there had been the equivalent of a magical minefield planted across the driveway that led to the building? "Though, gotta say, I'm impressed. Pretty good job for an old man."

The Chaos Mage scowled and would have told the younger man just what he thought of that comment if his throat had been capable of handling speech. He had to give the former White Knight some credit…the puny youth he recalled had bulked up over the years. And had a hell of a grip too.

Deathbringer turned back to look at him with a stony gaze and growled, "I'll contact you in a week or two. We're going after the next one then – and this one's a big bad Chaos Mage like you. Be prepared. The nastier, the better."

With that he strode off towards where his car was parked, Ethan's eyes following him the whole way. The mage waited until he entered the sleek vehicle and was gone before he slowly rose to his feet, still rubbing his throat. Once upon a time he might have been thinking of a way to retaliate against such treatment of his person.

Now he just started limping towards home, trying to remember if he still had any scotch left.

---

Deathbringer was heading towards home but decided against it, instead heading to the bar where he'd had Spike meet him at. Everyone that came in there knew about the creepies that crawled in the night and that he was the person in town to see when you wanted something done about them. The corner table he always appropriated was practically his office now – the bartender even told anyone that approached the table to think twice 'cause it was his.

He stomped into the bar right in the middle of a fight and casually ducked his way past it, ignoring a dart that whizzed past his ear in the chaos. The bartender looked up and nodded a greeting as he wiped off a glass and set it on a shelf behind him.

"What'll it be tonight, Scar?" asked the middle-aged man in his ever-calm voice. He looked at him from under a wild mane of dusty brown hair, blue-gray eyes as intent and all encompassing as ever. "The usual?"

"Just a beer," grunted Deathbringer in response. He leaned against a stool whilst he waited for the bartender to get the drink and surveyed the still ongoing brawl with his sole eye. When the beer was placed on the scarred oak counter near his hand, he asked, "So what'd Notch do this time to piss someone off, D?"

The bartender – better known to those that frequented his bar as only D – calmly picked up another glass and began to wipe it clean as he responded.

"Idiot tried to cheat Yang at poker again."

Deathbringer snorted at that and permitted himself a short, harsh laugh that only D could hear. The bartender quirked a small smile then his face blanked again, not even twitching when the brawl ended up breaking one of the chairs. That was what Deathbringer liked about D; you just couldn't faze the man. And D wasn't scared of him like most people were upon seeing him. The man even called him 'Scar'. Nobody else, not even Faith, had the ball's to do that.

Sure they weren't friends but he respected D well enough that he didn't start anything in the bar and he stayed out of what got started. 'Cause if he got involved it'd swiftly go to Hell in a hand basket and end with at least two people dead. By accident. He wasn't counting the handful that would be dead on purpose.

"One day he'll learn," he said to D, raising his beer in a toasting gesture. "Elsewise he's going to grow out of the name Notch and we'll have to start calling him Swiss for all the hole's in his face."

D just grunted at that and Deathbringer headed off towards his table, settling into his well-worn chair with a sigh. He'd been smart enough to leave his sword in the car and only came into the bar with his trusty Glock at his side. Well…and that dagger he had hidden in a slot in his right boot.

Leaning the chair back onto two legs, he sipped at his beer and watched the fight as it slowly wound down. There were three black eyes, four busted lips, what might have been a shattered jaw, and a handful of broken ribs by the time it was over from what he could see. Most of those who'd gotten involved were hauled off by their friends – to stop the fight and nurse their various wounds – while the victor and focus of the original brawl settled back down at the poker table, nursing a black eye and a busted lip.

Deathbringer grinned and chuckled darkly, saying to himself, "Another score for Yang, King of the Poker Table. And another loss for Notch, the Village Idiot."

Both nicknames were those the whole bar called the two men in low, hushed voices – one had a revered hint to it while the other was tinged with disgust. Yang had proven to be the best damn poker player in the bar, able to beat you out of your money as well as give you a sound beating if you tried to back out of giving him what he'd won. Notch, on the other hand, was a druggie who'd smoked too much weed during high school and was pretty much a worthless human being as well as an idiot.

The druggie also thought he was a sharp hand at poker and tried to take on Yang every other night or so. It made for some good entertainment late at night to watch the idiot turn red-faced with anger whilst the Poker King just sat back in his chair and smirked, obviously trying to hold in laughter.

With Notch out of the picture for the night and Yang glowering at anything that even looked like trouble coming near his table, it appeared that any form of entertainment was out for the night. This noted, he sighed and set his nearly empty beer bottle on the table, keeping his eye out for anyone that even remotely looked like they were coming after him with a job. While he didn't need one right now since he had his own personal mission, if it paid, he'd take damn near anything on whilst he tried to figure out what had happened in the past.

Nothing popped out at him so he figured that it was going to be a quiet night for the first time in a few. Then…then _she_ waltzed in like she owned the whole damn place.

The whole bar went quiet as the grave as she came in, dark hair bound up in a simple tail that rested at the base of her neck and trailed down her back. She was dressed simply (and smartly, in his opinion) in a pair of loose, dark pants that were tucked into a set of real combat boots and not some shoddy knock-offs with a dark tank-top and a loose cloth jacket in blood red over the top of it all. A bulge near the base of her spine showed off a weapon to those that noticed…though more drawing to the eye was the short sword she wore brashly at her left hip.

She went to the bar and every eye in the room followed her, each with interest of some type in that gaze. He kept his eye on her but also on the regulars that he knew would try and bed her – completely without her consent.

"Need something, Miss?" said D, looking up at the woman with a interested and slightly worried gaze. He knew the habits of some of his regulars and tried to keep the few women that wandered into the bar from falling prey to them. "Its not safe to be in this neighborhood all alone."

She smiled thinly at that.

"I'll be fine, thanks. Besides, I'm looking for an old friend."

D started to respond but one of the locals – drunk as a cloud in the sky – staggered up and butted in. He grabbed her arm and leaned on the counter, slurring, "Doan know about yer frien', missy, but…Ah'll be yer frien'."

Her lip curled and she lashed out, the heel of her hand striking his forehead at a startling speed. Deathbringer sat up, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs, as the local – a drunken leech he knew only as Sade for his sadist tendencies – hit the floor in blissful unconsciousness. He looked at her with an approving eye now.

_She_ knew how to take care of herself.

D didn't blink as she sent Sade into unconsciousness and calmly asked, "And who would you be looking for in this sort of place?"

"I…"

Her response was cut off as Sade's brother made his drunken way to the bar…with all of their equally drunken minions in tow. He stopped, looked at her, then down at his brother, then back to her again. Somehow the situation got into his alcohol-dimmed mind and his eyes narrowed into beady dots of drunken anger. His arm drew back, muscles in his thick brutish shoulder going taut, and Deathbringer was on his feet and moving.

The woman stepped back, one hand going to her sword, but she never had the chance to draw it. A back covered in weather-beaten black leather plunged in front of her, its owner throwing up an arm to deflect the punch that had been aimed at her. Then that self-same arm lashed out, fingers catching Sade's brutish brother in the throat, causing the brute to choke and collapse, eyes rolling back in his head.

A dark head lifted from looking down at the mass of flesh now lying prostrate on the floor then up at the minions still standing there and staring at him in their drunken daze.

"Anyone else want to try taking the lady for a ride she probably doesn't want?" growled her rescuer.

The drunken minions stared then one muttered something about, "We doan wanna mess with the Bringer," which sent chills up her spine. At this, they all turned and fled as one, making her dark-haired rescuer laugh.

He then said, "Sorry about the mess, D. Didn't mean to kill the asshole."

The bartender snorted softly and replied, "Yeah, you did." He then looked at her again and asked, "Well now, how about we figure out if your friend's here, Miss?"

"Alright," said the woman, not noticing that her rescuer – who had been walking away – abruptly froze in his tracks. "I'm looking for…"

She paused, mouth open to continue speaking, and stared at the face of the man who'd stepped into the path of the punch meant for her. It had been years but she remembered that face well.

"Who you're looking for doesn't live here anymore, Summers," growled Deathbringer, his sole eye narrowed to a slit. A green glint sparked in the corner of his iris then faded as he reached out and grasped her shoulder, shoving her back against the bar. Teeth bared, he glowered down at her and Dawn felt afraid of the man she considered a brother for the first time in her life.

"Go home," he said in a cold voice. "'Cause next time…I'm not going to save your ass."


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** _No Vacancy in Paradise_  
**Gen/Het/Slash:** Gen  
**Parings:** None  
**Genre:** Post S7  
**Story Warnings:** Murder, violence, language

**Summary:** Things have happened over the years. People have died. _Friends _have died. And Xander has steeled himself against it all, hunting demons and vampires under the name of Deathbringer. But now…now answers have started to arise about things that have happened. And nothing will stop him from hunting those answers down.

**Disclaimer:** Written for the Dark Xander Ficathon on Livejournal. Don't own characters or anything relating to them.

**Chapter 5**

She didn't listen. Damn her, she didn't listen and now he was going to have to beat the truth into her.

Fucking stubborn Summers' women. Heh, he'd admired them once.

Yeah…once.

Deathbringer scowled and looked at the stubborn brunette who'd refused to leave after he'd thrown her against the bar. The locals were leaving her alone now since he'd killed Sade's brother (Yang had had two of his goons take the body out and dump it, which was what he usually did when someone died in the bar). They all figured she was under his protection.

Heh, yeah. Not for too much fuckin' longer.

Dark eyes stared at him and he could see tears welling up behind the confusion in them. What the fuck was she crying for?

"Xander," Dawn gasped, staring at him across the table, "what happened to you?"

"Time," he replied, leaning back in his chair. He sipped at his fresh beer and smirked, adding, "Heh, yeah, that's a nice answer, ain't it?"

She stared at him in shock then her eyes hardened slightly. Her fists clenched on top of the table and she ducked her head, eyes closing.

"I've wanted to see you for eight years," she hissed. "Wanted to talk to you in some way. Couldn't you have the heart to at least send me a postcard or something?"

He fixed his sole eye on her ducked head and, shock of shocks, found that a little bitty bit of him still cared. Heh, he'd been wrong. Guess there was still a little bit of Xander left after all.

Deathbringer let his chair drop back to the floor and he leaned across the table, grabbing her chin in his free hand. He jerked her head up, forcing her to look at him. She grimaced, eyes shut tight, and he growled, "Open your eyes, bitch."

Dark eyes flew open at that and she stared in horror at him.

Haha, she never thought she'd hear that from him, did she?

Stupid, stupid kid.

"Things have changed," he growled, keeping his eye trained on her. "Shit, whole world's fuckin' changed in eight years, Summers. Slayer's can't do shit for the world anymore." He let a feral grin slip across his lips then. "That's why I'm here. Somebody's gotta have the balls to pick up the pieces."

"Xander…" she breathed, voice quavering.

Ooo, fear. He could _smell_ it.

Deathbringer grinned and leaned closer to her, his face just inches from hers. He could feel her breath on his scarred cheek – the scar he'd earned doing the job that the fuckin' Female Saviors of the World couldn't do because the Council had tied their hands behind their back.

"Afraid?" he asked, feeling her shiver under his hand. "That's good. You should be afraid of me, Summers. After all, from what the demons and vamps say, I'm the Boogeyman."

Dawn quivered, shaking in what was both outrage and fear. She understood what Spike meant now. This wasn't Xander. This wasn't _her Xander!_

He…this _thing_…this was a monster.

"Oh," she heard him say softly, "now you understand. You get it now, don't yah? Who you're looking for…"

She looked up into his eye, becoming a deer in the headlights when she saw the hazel eye gleaming with a sickly green.

"…hasn't been alive for seven years," finished Deathbringer with a smirk. He released her and leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he'd frightened her enough that'd she'd leave him the fuck alone. Dawn flung herself away from him, knocking her chair over, and staggering away. Eyes around the bar turned to look as she shivered, her eyes locked on that smirking monster that had stolen the last of her family from her.

"You…" she stared, "…you _bastard!_"

He laughed outright at that. Then he rose, grinning wildly, and said, "That the best you can do, Summers? Damn, I'm disappointed."

She stared at him, completely flabbergasted. Then it – pure righteous anger – surged through her and she ripped her sword from its sheath, charging at him. He just grinned at her, eye still gleaming with that sickly green light.

She'd _kill_ that beast that wore Xander's face!

_She'd kill it!_

Deathbringer just let her come at him, grinning all the while, then he frowned as something came to him. His eye turned completely green for a moment, shifting to a completely different eye that an human one, then shifted back.

"Shit," he muttered before the whole bar exploded.

---

"This her?"

"Yeah, grab her. Any sign of _him_?"

"Nah. Hope the bastard died in the blast."

"Heh, yeah right. That fucker die like this? Dream on."

"I like dreamin'," said a large vampire as he hefted Dawn's limp body onto his shoulder. "S'fun."

One of his companions (all of which were vampires) scoffed then said, "Let's get out of here before he manages to dig himself out. Yo, Abe!"

"Oi!" came a cry from the youngest of them, who was poking around in the rubble, looking for bodies to loot.

"You got the note?"

"Yeah. Where you want me to put it?"

"Set it on the bar," replied the vampire, obviously the leader of their little group. "By the way, nice job with the explosives, Chan."

The fourth vampire, a Japanese woman with blue hair, just nodded and the leader grinned. He then said, "Alright then, folks, let's move out!"

He walked off and they followed him, the vampire called Abe lingering behind to lay a letter on what was left on the bar. As he smirked and placed a bottle on top of it to hold it down, he heard something behind him. Whirling, he lashed out at the figure that had crept up on him but the stake had entered his heart before he had the time to make the swipe hit.

Deathbringer, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead and covered in dust with his coat in tatters, snarled and shoved the vampire back onto the bar. He twisted the stake sadistically, growling, "That's for blowing up my favorite fuckin' bar, you little shit."

Abe gasped and dusted, the stake buried in him falling onto the counter with a clatter. Deathbringer sneered at the dust then turned and surveyed the damage around him, knowing by the smell in the air that he was the only one left alive. A glance behind the counter proved it, as D lay there staring blankly at the sky.

If anyone could survive the explosion besides him, he'd have figured it would have been D.

Then again, he only survived before he dived under the stairs and he was a fucking stubborn sonuvabitch.

Snorting, he grabbed a surviving bottle of vodka from the stock under the counter and took a long drink, letting the alcohol sink into his system before he turned to focus on the note left by the vampire. He picked it up in dusty fingers and read it with a scowl that deepened as he continued.

When he was done, he crumpled the letter in his fist and turned, a scream of frustration and rage welling up out of his throat. He threw the vodka bottle at the rubble, hearing it shatter as he turned and grabbed his stake off the counter, snarling incoherently.

Fucking vampires had ruined his favorite bar.

That was a killing offense in itself in his book.

Fucking vampires had also kidnapped Dawn.

Now, while he no longer gave a shit what happened to her where vanilla mortals were involved, vamp's…

Vamp's touching one of _his girls_ was a fucking felony.

Heh, stupid vamp's.

He smiled ferally and walked away from the rubble as he heard the sirens coming, lured by the destruction. And, like it was just a normal night, he got in his car – which was unscathed, a good thing for the vamp's as there'd have been real hell to pay if it had gotten messed up – and drove away.

Hands clenched on the steering wheel, he drove like a madman down the streets, breaking laws and outrunning whatever poor sap of a cop tried to catch him. He had a Chaos Mage to pick up and some new plans to put into motion.

The vamp's and whomever they worked for wanted him _bad_.

So he was gonna give them their wish.

As he drove, plans flickering through his head, he never realized that he'd referred to Dawn as one of _his girls_. That wasn't Deathbringer talking.

_That was Xander._


End file.
